


Recollections Of The Most Pleasurable Kind

by Torytigress92



Series: Happily Ever After In A Zombie Apocalypse [2]
Category: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies (2016), Pride and Prejudice and Zombies - Jane Austen & Seth Grahame-Smith
Genre: 19th Century social norms, AU, F/M, PWP, Plot? What Plot!? Have Smut Instead!, Regency, explicit content, morning after fic, parlour!sex, re-dressing the balance, sex against doors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 00:17:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10730274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torytigress92/pseuds/Torytigress92
Summary: The morning after their wedding, the newlywed Mr and Mrs Darcy stop by the parsonage at Rosings before journeying on, to farewell Parson Collins and Charlotte. While they wait, Mr Darcy finds himself overwhelmed by unfortunate recollections of the last time they were together in the parlour, and Elizabeth sets herself to distract him and make future recollection more pleasurable.





	Recollections Of The Most Pleasurable Kind

Recollections Of The Most Pleasurable Kind

Warnings: Explicit content. Spoilers for the ending of the film. PWP.

Disclaimer: I do not own P&P, PPZ or any of its characters and associated trademarks.

A/N: This is set directly after ‘To Put A Warrior At Her Ease Is A Potentially Painful Endeavour’.

* * *

Elizabeth stirred reluctantly, sunk deep into the warmth of her bed. Heated memories played across the surface of her mind, memories that should have made her flush with shame, but she could find no shame within her.

The sunlight gently pierced her eyelids, niggling just enough to ensure she couldn’t fall back into slumber. The gentle warmth playing across her skin was not what had finally awoken her, however.

No, the hand tenderly caressing her dishevelled curls was the culprit of that particular crime. As much as she had enjoyed her training in China, Elizabeth hadn’t mourned the loss of rising before dawn every day for meditation and exercise when they returned to England.

“Good morning, Mrs Darcy,” a familiar, much-loved voice rasped quietly against her ear, as she stretched and arched, her spine undulating against his lawn-clad chest, resembling a too-contented feline to her disgustingly sprightly husband. “It’s time to arise. You must break your fast and then we must depart before the day draws on.”

“Do you not know it is exceedingly poor manners, Mr Darcy, to awaken your wife so?” she huffed, still stubbornly refusing to open her eyes. “I was much occupied attending to my wifely duties last night. Let me sleep awhile longer.”

He chuckled, albeit in a somewhat strained manner, at her choice of words, as she mentally groaned. She had been occupied last night indeed.

Despite her feigned ill mood, Elizabeth had felt a shiver run down her spine when he used her new name. No doubt he felt it too, the reprobate, as he leaned further into her and gently kissed her ear. “Mrs Darcy…” he called teasingly, before he blew cool air across the whorl of sensitive flesh. Elizabeth felt another kiss, then another, dotting down the yielding flesh of her neck as swiftly as a hummingbird’s flight, the slightest press of teeth against the join of her neck to her shoulders making her moan, as she at last opened her eyes and rolled to face him.

Their lips met wordlessly, no more thought spared for unnecessary speech. The force of Darcy’s kiss surprised Elizabeth, as he pressed her back into the pillows. She had thought his possessiveness and urgency assuaged after the events of last night, but apparently not.

How diverting…

The thought flitted in and out of Elizabeth’s consciousness absentmindedly, as she felt his hand begin to slowly caress her breast over the thin bed sheet. As their kiss reached a natural ending, she gasped for breath as arousal, lazy but burning, began to simmer beneath her skin once more.

“You have turned me into a wanton, Mr Darcy,” she breathed, wondering if now, after the lust and the wedding night had passed, he would find fault in her untamed nature and censure her for it. If he did, she would soon make him regret such hypocritical behaviour.

“You need not fear, Elizabeth,” he growled, easily catching the tenor of her thoughts as she eyed him cautiously, despite her ardour. “I welcome your wantonness, wife. Indeed, I yearn for it. Feel free to explore it all you wish with me.”

* * *

In relief, she reached up and kissed him once more, sighing with delight when he brushed aside the sheet and cupped his hand over her breast. His tongue caressed hers in a playful, taunting dance as she strained to meet him, but he had pinned her quite effectively beneath him and he held himself too high above her, for her to meet his kiss as she needed. Darcy’s torturing hand at her breast slowed, as he raised his head and gazed down at her with lustful, but concerned, eyes. “You are not too sore, this morning?” he asked.

Elizabeth paused, inwardly taking inventory of herself as her master had taught her. Although there was some residual ache, she was largely unaffected by whatever pain Darcy had expected her to be in. She was a warrior, true, and so trained to master and ignore any discomfort, but she idly pondered exactly how awful such activities could be, if one’s partner was not so attentive and gentle as her husband had been, and if her husband was so concerned that even his said gentle attentions had caused her great pain.

* * *

Deciding not to wander in such dark, idle speculation, Elizabeth recalled herself and smiled beatifically up at her husband. “I am well,” she replied simply. “Better than I have ever felt before.”

Darcy sighed in relief. “I am glad our…activities last night did not leave you in discomfort,” he continued, raising one hand to stroke her cheek lovingly. She nuzzled into his touch.

“Since we have now established my physical sturdiness in the wake of our wedding night, perhaps we might…?” Elizabeth began to inquire, but she was abruptly silenced as Darcy’s lips covered her own once more. Properly and oh-so-satisfyingly this time.

Just as Darcy’s hand resumed its caresses of her breast, there came a knock at the door.

“Mrs Darcy? I have your breakfast,” Shaw called, ignorant to the now highly flustered state of the newlyweds within. Darcy shot from the bed with a start, reaching for where Elizabeth had dropped her robe last night and flinging it to her. Elizabeth frantically dragged it on and dived back under the covers, just as Darcy disappeared into his dressing room and Shaw opened the door.

“Good morning, ma‘am,” the ladies’ maid smiled and dipped a gentle curtsey, showing enviable balance as she held the tray steady. “I hope you slept well?”

“Ahh, yes,” Elizabeth cleared her throat, making sure her robe was still tightly shut as she sat upright. “I had planned to go down for breakfast…”

“Lady Catherine thought you might wish to stay abed a little longer,” Shaw explained with a wry grin. Both women shared a commiserating glance as they reflected inwardly on the vagaries of Lady Catherine. “She sent up a good selection.”

“Good heavens!” Elizabeth gasped when she saw the contents of the tray. There was tea and toast, with plenty of butter, kedgeree and kippers, fried ham and a boiled egg. “She must think me starved! And you carried it all upstairs?!”

“It was no trouble, ma’am,” Shaw shrugged. There was a preternatural stillness and balance to her mien, that was more visible in the daylight, which made Elizabeth wonder if she had undergone any training in the deadly arts. “Lady Catherine knows what increased appetite married women may suffer.”

The ladies’ maid winked, making Elizabeth both blush and laugh. Shaw, realising that her mistress still had not moved from the bed and clutched her robe tightly, smirked to herself and went to place the tray down at the small escritoire by the window. “I’ll be up shortly to collect the tray, ma’am.”

With a sly wink, Shaw curtsied and left the room, Elizabeth watching her go with a discomfited laugh at her insinuation. She was truly a wonder. She had a feeling they were going to be great friends.

As Elizabeth rose from her bed and cinched her robe shut tightly, Darcy reappeared from his dressing room. She shook her head at his reddened expression.

“It’s quite silly really. You’re my husband, you have every right to be in our bedchamber,” she laughed, settling down at the escritoire and pouring herself a cup of tea.

“I know it, but it has yet to become a comfortable notion,” Darcy replied with a suddenly shy smile, and Elizabeth felt her heart swell with tenderness towards him. Since her acceptance of his second proposal, the first being so phrased as to not be conducive to a positive response, he had shown her greater depths in his being. She had become assured of his gentler nature since that frank and anguished letter he had written her from the Siege of London, but he had felt more and more at ease in expressing it when they were alone together during their courtship, short of duration though it was. She looked forward with alacrity to exploring further the hidden depths of her husband’s soul.

One such quirk she had discovered was his shyness in society, which all too easily translated into hauteur to outsiders, and his warrior’s dislike of displaying emotions in front of others lest they be construed as weakness. Elizabeth had no such trouble in her frankness of emotion, and determined to teach him that same ease.

“Well, you shall have to accustom yourself to it,” she stated firmly, turning nonchalantly to her tea and the kedgeree she had just spooned onto her plate. She forwent the kippers, not wanting her breath to stink of fish when she would be travelling for hours in a closed carriage with her husband, and inspected the ham. “Because I will tolerate no more unsightly rushing into your dressing room just because a maid knocks. We are husband and wife, your right to my…to our bedchamber is absolute. Consider it a duty, in fact.”

“And my other duties, dear wife?” she felt rather than heard him say, as he leant over her, his hands gently encircling her wrists on the table. Her breath hitched, reminded of what Shaw had interrupted, and her body ached with unsatisfied desire.

“To be fulfilled as often as you and I both desire,” she replied, with an unconsciously sultry smile that made her husband’s heart pound with the reciprocal emotion. But if they did not depart soon, they would have to delay another day. He released her wrists and stepped back as she picked up her tea.

“As much as I would wish to fulfil them immediately, I fear we must refrain. For now,” Darcy added hastily, at Elizabeth’s frown. “The day draws on, and Pemberley calls.”

Elizabeth replaced her teacup, her stomach suddenly unsettled by the rush of apprehension and excitement that overwhelmed her. Grief followed in its wake, as she contemplated having to leave her dearest Papa and Jane, and even her other sisters and Mama, although those she would miss less fiercely. But her place was beside her husband, and even with her and Jane departed from Longbourn, her family would not be unprotected. Her father was still an able warrior despite his advancing years, and her sisters now proficient fighters. Her kidnapping at Wickham’s hands had wrought great changes in Lydia, and before the wedding, Elizabeth had often seen her engaging with her training with greater discipline than heretofore. Elizabeth, to her own surprise, had faith that her family would be alright without her or Jane.

Nevertheless, it was a wrench to leave so soon. But her place lay elsewhere, now.

“Very well,” she sighed. “How quickly can we be off?”

Darcy looked relieved that she had not tried to argue for a longer stay, as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “In a few hours for the luggage, almost immediately for ourselves. Most of what your mother brought from Longbourn was never unpacked, and it will not take long to load the carriages. Your new ladies maid and my valet will travel behind us with a guard, while we go on ahead in my carriage,” he explained, as Elizabeth nodded.

“Just let me finish breakfast and change, and I will meet you downstairs in the hall,” she replied with a wan smile, as Darcy pressed a kiss to her curls and left. Once left in solitude, Elizabeth gazed out the window, lost in thought as she contemplated the parting and the journey to come. Her eyes misty, her jaw firmed in resolution in defiance, as she picked up her now lukewarm tea and finished it determinedly, before turning back to the kedgeree and ham.

* * *

After she had finished her breakfast, Shaw arrived to take her tray back downstairs and laid out her travelling clothes. Despite the relatively short notice, Darcy had arranged for a seamstress to fit Elizabeth with a trousseau, including a new carriage gown replete in velvet for the colder Northern climes, and hardened leather accents on the arms, shoulders and collar, to deter a zombie bite in the event of an attack. It was of the finest, darkest plum dye and Elizabeth had loved it the moment she had seen it once finished. Once in the carriage, Elizabeth would slip into the breeches and boots provided, but for the departure, she resolved to wear a gown, selecting a light sprigged muslin dress from her small supply.

When Shaw returned, herself garbed in thick, stout travelling gear, she helped Elizabeth rearrange her hair, miraculously taming her wayward curls into a tight chignon, elegant and delicate but sturdy and practical enough to keep her eyes clear in the event of an attack.

She handed Shaw her sword and axe, to be stowed in the carriage with her breeches and boots, while Elizabeth affixed her butterfly knives to her thighs beneath her skirts.

As she studied her ladies’ maid’s graceful, assured movements, Elizabeth could not help her curiosity. She couched it as a concerned question; not wishing to pry if the woman’s past was a painful one.

“Would you not prefer riding with myself and Mr Darcy, Shaw? For safety‘s sake, if nothing else?” she asked, frowning slightly. The maid rose from where she had been bent over the bed, shaking out the creases in Elizabeth’s abandoned nightgown, her face guarded and uncertain.

“I’ll be fine, ma’am,” she assured her firmly, before a rueful smile broke through the steely shield of her features. “You recognised it, then?”

“A fellow warrior always knows,” Elizabeth replied, her frown dissolving into a gentle smile. “Where did you train? Hunan?”

“No, a Wudang temple in the Wudang Mountains, Hubei,” Shaw explained. “They did not demand payment, and it was the last gift my father could give me. I am grateful for his foresight and for the Masters’ generosity in taking in a penniless orphan.”

Elizabeth knew that those of the servant classes were not expected to learn the deadly arts, being seen as little more than cannon fodder by their masters, and she could understand why Shaw might have sought to hide it from her new mistress. No doubt, if it had been Miss Bingley in her place, she’d have sacked her on the spot.

That is, if she even had the wit and knowledge to notice in the first place. She might have been trained in Kyoto, but Caroline Bingley’s skill was negligible and her notice of those of lower status nonexistent. Elizabeth, on the other hand, could only be grateful for it.

As for the story Shaw had exposed in her truthfulness, she could only sympathise and praise the woman’s strength of will. She did not know how she would fare, when the time came, and she lost her dear father.

“Well, I for one am glad of it too,” Elizabeth said, after a moment’s tense silence, as Shaw seemingly awaited her dismissal. She visibly relaxed at Elizabeth’s words. “I too trained in China.”

Shaw blinked, her shock only just showing, obviously not one for the gossip that surrounded Mr Darcy’s union to a woman of no family, fortune or connexions. Another thing that endeared her to Elizabeth. With a wry smirk, Shaw bobbed a curtsey. “Then Mr Darcy has even better taste than many give him credit for,” she replied, making her new mistress laugh. “If that will be all, ma’am?”

Elizabeth dismissed her with a comradely smile and a nod as she bundled Elizabeth‘s travelling gear and weapons into her arms and left. As Elizabeth readjusted her new carriage coat one last time, her eyes strayed to the bed and with it, the memory of the activities she had engaged in while in it, with her Will. And the aborted ones too soon interrupted.

They would never stay focussed and alert during the journey with that remaining between them. As a solution presented itself, Elizabeth smiled wickedly to herself.

* * *

Darcy was doing his best to reassure and appease the hysterical Mrs Bennet, who had just been informed of her second daughter’s imminent departure, his patience wearing thin, when he heard the footsteps behind him.

Mrs Bennet’s shrill cry only confirmed what his senses had told him. “Oh, Lizzy!”

As the matron rushed past him to shriek at her daughter in remonstrance, Darcy turned to face her; the gentle summer morning’s light playing over her fine features, soft and glowing in her travelling ensemble. Her hair was elegantly arranged, not a curl out of place, as he was rather forcibly reminded of how exceedingly well she looked while dishevelled. Whether from battle or…other activities…

He winced, as a pang of arousal shot through him, edged with frustration at the aborted activities of the morning. He felt his father-in-law’s knowing gaze on his face, and struggled to compose himself. “You have quite the job on your hands, Darcy,” Mr Bennet murmured quietly. “She is headstrong, impulsive, bloodthirsty and incorrigibly stubborn. Not even the harshest, sternest masters at the Shaolin Temple could break her spirit and render her biddable. But at least, you’ll never be bored.”

“Nor would I expect her to be,” Darcy replied, equally as quiet, as Elizabeth succeeded in silencing her mother’s protests and held her close, while her sisters crowded around. “I did not wed her to tame her. She is my equal and I will cherish her for however long we have on this accursed earth.”

Approval gleamed in the elder man’s eyes, and he bowed slightly. A small bow, from one master warrior to another, as he released his charge into his care. “Take care of her, Darcy,” Mr Bennet said firmly. “I know you shall, for I would not have parted with her if I did not deem you worthy of the task, but it bears repeating.”

“Her life’s dearer to me than my own,” Darcy retorted, both touched by his father-in-law’s approval and pricked by the need he felt to reaffirm it. Would it be the same with his own daughters, one day? The thought of Elizabeth with child, his child…Darcy blinked, thrusting the fantasy away firmly, before looking again to his father-in-law. “I would die for her.”

“Good, good,” Mr Bennet nodded, smiling as he moved away to embrace his favourite child. “You might need to.”

* * *

Darcy had taken leave of his aunt earlier, and on Elizabeth’s behalf, not wanting to strain the tenuous, newborn respect between the two women with further unnecessary interaction. He had long known of his aunt’s designs on him for her own daughter, and his cousin, Anne, but he had never played along with his aunt’s pretensions. Elizabeth had confessed about her visit, and her attempt to intimidate the young woman into promising to disavow any attachment to Darcy, and so had discovered the source of that respect. No doubt, his aunt had discovered for himself Elizabeth’s intransigence and strength of will, as he had.

While the thought had amused him, he had been angered by the threat to his beloved’s life, and had no qualms about informing his aunt of such. One of his last few living relatives left she might be, other than his Fitzwilliam cousins and Georgiana, but he would not hesitate to seek vengeance for any further threat to Elizabeth’s life or happiness.

To his eternal surprise, she had agreed with him. In the end, Darcy had concluded, not even his aunt’s perpetual disdain for those of lower station could repress her warrior’s respect for superior skill and strength. Darcy certainly hadn’t been able to, even while wallowing in his pride and self-restraint due to the lady’s station and family.

He thanked God daily for the truth Elizabeth had forced him to face, painfully in both body and soul. He would spend the remainder of his days living to that truth.

With Elizabeth by his side.

He glanced up from his thoughts to see Elizabeth nestled in her father’s arms, unrestrained in her affection for him and her grief at their parting, and felt his own long-repressed grief, and guilt at forcing this parting on her, well up, making it hard to breathe through the iron bands constricting his chest. He watched as Elizabeth drew back, and they touched foreheads tenderly. He did not seek to, but his trained senses heard their last words of parting.

“We will meet again,” Elizabeth vowed, quietly but firmly, as if willing them into truth by the sheer force of her spirit.

“We will,” was Mr Bennet’s simple reply, before he pressed his lips to Elizabeth’s forehead gently, and then let her go.

* * *

“Darcy?”

Darcy was pulled from his observation by a familiar hand on his sleeve. He turned to face Charles, who clapped his shoulder in brotherly affection. “Take care of yourself, Darce,” the younger man told him sternly, but for the twinkle of mirth ever-present in his eye. “Although I’m sure Lizzy will fulfil the task admirably enough.”

“You may count upon it, brother mine,” Elizabeth retorted acerbically, but her own fine eyes glinted with laughter. She came up on his other side, inserting her arm in his, cupping the crook of his elbow tightly. Jane peeled herself away from her crying mother to join them, touching cheeks with Elizabeth and valiantly restraining her own tears at the parting. “Promise me you will write when you are settled, Jane.”

“Of course, Lizzy,” the elder Bennet sister replied, her eyes watery but smile firm as she took her own husband’s arm. “And you must do so as well. Tell us all about Pemberley.”

“You will all be welcome at Christmas,” Darcy found himself interjecting, ignoring Elizabeth’s shocked stare, as Mrs Bennet and the Misses Bennet all squealed with delight. “But we must be away; else we will not reach the safe house before sunset. Elizabeth?”

He felt Elizabeth pause for a moment, gazing upon her family, the last echo of her childhood now forever out of reach, and her life as a wife and the defender and mistress of Pemberley beckoning. He allowed her that moment, realising it, and the emotions it evoked in his wife, all-too-closely resembled his own diffidence and uncertainty at stepping into his role as master of Pemberley after his father’s death.

He squeezed her gloved hand gently, as she took a deep breath, smiled at her family one last time and then allowed her husband to lead her out of the entrance hall of Rosings, and down the stairs to the courtyard where their carriage awaited them.

* * *

They sat in comfortable silence as they left the confines of Rosings, Elizabeth sad but thoughtful, and Darcy now filled with familiar impatience to reach his home. Now hers, his wife’s, too.

As the gates shut behind them, Elizabeth suddenly drew a breath and turned to him, a wave of her perfume washing over him as she moved, leaving him giddy. “Might we make a quick detour? I haven’t said goodbye to Charlotte, and who knows how long it shall be before I see her again?”

Darcy opened his mouth to demur, before he recalled the former Miss Lucas’s lack of combat skill, and the ridiculous Mr Collins’s own martial incompetence. Without the protection of his aunt, it was unlikely they would be able to make the perilous journey to Pemberley often, probably not above once a year when Lady Catherine visited Pemberley at Christmas, if that. Even that was too often in Darcy’s opinion, but he knew the deep well of friendship between his wife and the new Mrs Collins, similar to that of his own with Charles, and with the pain of her separation from her family too raw in his mind, he could not bring himself to forbid her this.

He tapped on the roof of the armoured carriage with the hilt of his katana. “Higgs, stop here. My wife and I will make a quick stop at the parsonage. We will not be long.”

“Very good, sir,” his coachman called back, halting the horses deftly. Darcy was rewarded by the delight in Elizabeth’s face as she hugged him fiercely, pressing a swift, chaste kiss to his lips. He shuddered, set aflame even by that tiny embrace, but she was already out of the carriage, walking quickly towards the parsonage only half a mile distant. He hauled himself out after her, forced to sprint to catch up with his fleet-footed wife. He possessed a dim hope that the coachman hadn’t witnessed that undignified display.

He caught Elizabeth’s hand, slowing her down. There were no Undead in Kent under Lady Catherine’s auspices, so they were relaxed as they strolled down the lane. The fine gravel of the road crunched under their boots, while the finches garbled cheerfully in the hedgerows.

“Thank you, my love,” Elizabeth murmured quietly, as he squeezed her hand in silent understanding. “Although,” and here, a teasing, distinctly mischievous twinkle lit her eyes, to Darcy’s continuing discomfort and unease, “I’m sure that you too could not countenance leaving Kent without paying the monumental honour of bestowing your condescension on my most worthy cousin,” she finished, with such a patently false officious tone, that it made Darcy laugh unexpectedly. He knew very well that Elizabeth despised her contemptible cousin just as much as he did; it was truly only for the sake of the poor Mrs Collins that they had made this pause. Theirs would most likely be the last sensible conversation the unfortunate woman would have for some time.

“Indeed not. However, I flatter myself, and him, that his own overweening self-importance would survive the blow,” Darcy replied derisively. Elizabeth chuckled, looking down at her boots as they walked. However, as they neared the nondescript little cottage, Elizabeth felt her husband’s arm tensing under her hand. Concerned, she glanced up at him, brow furrowed at his blackening scowl as he considered the place.

“My dear, what is it?” she asked. “If you had rather not put up with Mr Collins, I would understand. Wait outside, and I shall only be a short while I farewell Charl-”

“No, no,” Darcy replied forcefully, at first, before catching sight of his wife’s arch expression at being spoken to in such a manner, and softened. “It is not that, Elizabeth,” he explained hesitantly. “It is-”  
But his explanation was forced to halt as the maid opened the door of the parsonage. She had been dusting the parlour window sill and had seen them coming down the lane, and thus hastened to open the door. “Good morning, sir, ma’am. Mr and Mrs Collins are out at present but will be back shortly.”

“Very well,” Darcy stated coolly. “We will await their arrival in the parlour. We won‘t require any refreshment.”

Somewhat in awe of her prestigious guests, the maid curtseyed silently and stepped back from the door to let them in. She dutifully opened the door to the parlour and let them inside, before letting the door close with a soft click. In the suddenly tense atmosphere Elizabeth could sense in the room, it echoed like a cannon shot.

* * *

As she went to sit down on the sofa, to await her friend’s return, Elizabeth racked her brains to understand why her husband’s mood, never completely cheerful as she was coming to know, had soured so far so quickly. As she sat down, her gaze fell to the hearth, to where the poker sat in its wrought copper holder, and suspicion flared.

“Will,” she began, speaking into the leaden silence between them, looking up at her husband with resolution. If what she believed was true, she would not permit him to labour under such grim thoughts. “My love, look at me,” she implored him, softening her tone when he continued to evade her gaze. He finally met her eyes and she was shocked and saddened by the look in his own, by the sadness and loathing she glimpsed there. She rose from her seat and went to him, gripping his hands firmly in her own gloved ones. Heat bloomed, as it always did at his touch, but she ignored it for the present. “Think not of the past, Will. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“But it does, my Elizabeth,” Darcy sighed. “Being in this room, seeing it again even as united as we are…”

Elizabeth knew the ghosts it awakened in him. “Do not think of what I said then! I was labouring under deceit and my own wounded pride,” she murmured softly.

“Perhaps, but then what did you say that I did not deserve?” Darcy replied unhappily as he looked down at their joined hands. “My behaviour, my conceit towards you and your affections, was abominable and I cannot think upon it without abhorrence. In the instance of my interference with Jane and Charles, I can only beg your forgiveness. It was done in the service of a friend.”

“I know, and I commend you for it now I understand more,” Elizabeth frowned, uncertain where he was heading with his diatribe towards his own conduct. “You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.”

“True, but without that I would not have learned my error, my love,” Darcy sighed, finally reaching out and pulled her into his embrace. “I have been a selfish being all my life. As a child, I was given good principles but then left to follow them in arrogance and conceit of my position and judgement. After my father…died, I had no choice but to take up the burden of my estate and caring for my sister while fighting the Undead hordes and so I cloaked myself in the belief of my superiority to all others. I believed myself above even the woman I loved, and so was sure of your acceptance. Your reply could not have been better calculated to remind me of the truth. If not for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, I might have remained in my arrogance.”

“Hush now, husband,” Elizabeth raised her hand to his lips, shivering as he pressed a kiss against her fingertips. “I cannot bear to hear you belittle yourself so. We both share an equal blame for that morning, and perhaps, it helped us both to address our faults. Let us leave it at that and say no more about it.”

“As my lady commands,” Darcy agreed, with another kiss to her fingertip, eliciting a gasp from his wife. Elizabeth laid her head on his lapel and just luxuriated in the feel of his strong arms around her. As a warrior, she knew she should have shunned such an indulgence as weakness but she could not. How could her husband ever be truly a weakness to her?

“If nothing else…” Elizabeth began again, after a brief interval of peace. She could feel Darcy tense in anticipation of what she was to say. “At least we now know our marital disputes will never be dull.”

A bark of laughter escaped Darcy’s lips as he tightened his grip on her. “Yes, my love. I will never underestimate your skill at throwing books at my head again,” he replied teasingly, as Elizabeth mock glared and pouted up at him. Allured by her lips so prettily displayed for him, he bent his head to reclaim them and kissed her heatedly. Elizabeth whimpered and sank against him further, eliciting a moan against her lips from Darcy.

“Elizabeth…” he growled, breaking from the kiss. All the tension from earlier returned, and he had to fight to stop himself from giving in to his desires. All his long years training, honing his vaunted self-control and she could break it down like a child kicking down a sandcastle.

“I seem to remember other confidences you gave me about what occurred in this room,” she whispered in reply, a sultry temptress that he was powerless to deny. “If this room is filled with ghosts, then let us exorcise them now. Let us reclaim the happiness that Wickham’s perfidy delayed us finding with each other. If this room is where the insult was given, from one to the other, then let us bring it full circle now.”

Darcy stared at his wife, his desires and his demons howling to give in and go along with her plan, his desirous, brazen warrior wife. Elizabeth smiled, sensing his growing capitulation as she leaned up to whisper in his ear. “And if nothing else, we have unfinished business from this morning, and a long and dangerous journey ahead. It would be most expedient if we were to assuage such and so remain alert during the ride ahead.”

* * *

Stunned anew by her ability to twist what sounded like a simple, sensible suggestion into one dripping with innuendo and double meaning, he could only give in and allow his demons full rein, while marvelling at the depths revealing themselves in his beautiful, wise, sensuous wife. “It would be most expedient,” he agreed, mentally calculating how far away Collins and his wife might be and the best way to accomplish their shared desire. The sofa was far too narrow, designed for sitting demurely by ladies and husbands enjoying afternoon tea, not their endeavour. The floor, despite the heated thoughts it evoked, was too hard and Elizabeth still too unused to this. He would not do anything to harm her.

But then…

A memory surfaced, of watching her as her momentum and his strength had sent her crashing against the parlour door. Angry and focussed on the fight as he had been, he had been all too tempted to pursue her there after and pin her against the door, to feel again her soft form pressed intimately to his own. She had recovered too quickly to allow even a moment’s contemplation to what his demons proposed, but now they revealed themselves anew, resurgent against the tide of desire she was steadily enveloping him in. And she was meant to be the student, and he the master…?

But now that memory afforded him inspiration, as he pressed his lips back to those of his wife, and let his desires free. Now he was no longer required to fight the tide, he let it consume him and turned his mind to planning their latest encounter.

He placed his hands on her hips, spinning her round in his hold so her back nestled against his chest. She whimpered at the loss of their kiss, but soon arched and writhed against him as he trailed his mouth lightly down her neck, careful to avoid marking her, while his hands traced the outline of her hips and thighs covetously. She gripped one of his wrists tightly, enjoying the feel of his hand flexing over her covered skin, while her other hand rose to grip the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Do you recall the last time we were in this room?” he growled against her throat.

“I thought we had agreed….not…to dwell on the…past?” she gasped, as the hands roaming her curves abruptly reversed direction, gliding her body to cup her breasts.

“Sound advice,” Darcy replied, his husky voice strangled by the growing pressure in his loins. “But in this case…what I recall only brings me the greatest pleasure now, I assure you. Thus, the question stands.”

How her infuriatingly erudite husband retained his eloquence when she felt fit to burst, and barely able to think with any notion of clarity, she didn’t know. She envied him that talent at that moment. His hands moulded and kneaded her swollen flesh, achingly hot even through the shield of her gown and pelisse, while his sinful mouth persisted in teasing her neck.

“I do,” she finally managed to reply. “We…we have spoken of this before.”

“Yes, but not in great detail,” Darcy continued. “The moment I held you beneath me, pinned to that table…”

Elizabeth suddenly grasped the direction of his thoughts, and smiled slyly. She would gladly play his game, if only to have some fun at his expense. She had no doubt he would orchestrate things to their mutual pleasure in the end.

“Oh, yes. While I was insensible of it at the time, afterwards I remembered the strength of your hold and your weight against me. It was most…diverting,” Elizabeth told him, her cheeks flaming red. Despite her own slight discomfort, she noted with impish humour that his own was too, if the hardness pressing against her backside was any indication.

Darcy cleared his throat, with difficulty. His wife was a minx, and knowingly so, he was sure of it. That surety was only proven when he felt her hand, still gloved, reach back between them and slide over the placket of his breeches. God help him but she was determined to make his heart give out.

Elizabeth half expected him to move them over to the aforementioned table by the window, but he did not. Instead, he removed one hand from her breast and slid it back down her body. Her breath tangled in her throat, Elizabeth felt the ache in her abdomen only intensify as he slid his fingers into the juncture of her thighs, cupping her through her gown. Thin as it was, he could feel she was bare. “Elizabeth…” he breathed in surprise.

“I had planned to change into my breeches once we were safely ensconced in the carriage,” she explained, the practicality of her choice somewhat ruined by the breathlessness of her voice. “Undergarments do not fit well with such close-fitting breeches. But as you were saying…?”

Her fingers firmed against him, and he hissed in a breath. Even through the folds of her gown, he could feel her desire, wet and heated, in tune with his own. “A part of me longed to throw you down and claim you then and there,” he confessed to her, as she stilled. “When you held my head trapped between your calves; when I pushed you against the door…”

Suddenly, Elizabeth had an inkling of what he proposed, just before he released her to entrap her waist in his hands, lifting her against him. In three long strides, he reached the door and set her down against it, still facing away from him. She splayed her hands against it, pressing back against him as he nuzzled his face in her silken hair. “The practicality of your sartorial choice only makes this easier,” he whispered in her ear, as she shuddered. He spun her around again, as she slumped against the door, breathless and waiting, once again the student to his master. He bent his head, ravishing her mouth and she clung to him, moaning quietly. He raised his head, looking down on her sternly. “Now, Elizabeth, you must be quiet,” he began, in his best impression of the pompous tones of Parson Collins. “It is improper of young ladies as yourself to make such noise, and we wouldn’t want to alarm the poor maid, would we?”

Elizabeth mock-glared at him, fighting back a smile. It quickly fled when he dropped to his knees before her. “Will…?” she gasped questioningly.

“I believe I mentioned being between your legs at some point,” he replied huskily, soothing her with a kiss to her knee as he rucked up her skirts, revealing the long, lithe line of her boot and stocking-covered legs. Once they were neatly folded above his head, he reached out and gently pulled one of Elizabeth’s legs to curl over his back. By then, Elizabeth’s lungs heaved for air and he hadn’t even touched her.

Darcy took his time, enjoying the sensual torture he lavished on her, planting a hot trail of kisses up the inner facet of her thigh, from knee to pelvis, before reversing direction and doing the same down the other leg. She groaned in protest, her hips shifting towards him but he gripped her hips, holding her steady. She was wet and hot, aching for him, and the scent and sight of her desire so wantonly displayed for him made lust roar through him. As Elizabeth gripped the panelling of the door behind her with one hand, and twined her hand with his curls with the other, he leant forward, immersing himself in her.

Elizabeth had to turn her head and bite her fist to stifle the cry that had welled up with the first touch of her husband’s tongue against her. It drew patterns against her, obscene alphabets he drew with his tongue, the position he had placed her in leaving her open and vulnerable to whatever he wished. Her body felt alive with sensation as he worshipped her body, drawing her pleasure out. All the while, she fought to hold in her moans and screams, knowing full well he enjoyed the difficulty she experienced in doing so.

In retaliation, she arched her back, rocking her pelvis against his mouth and tightening her grip on his hair. He growled against her, sending shockwaves of sensation across her nerves, and she bit back a moan. She saw him glance up at her, taking in her desperate, dishevelled state, and released his grip on her hip.

He drew it down to part her folds, finding her entrance and entering her with his tongue. Elizabeth failed to hold back a small shriek, as he probed and then moaned against her. He removed his tongue only to replace it with his fingers, sliding easily into her damp sheath, while he sucked and laved the hardened nub at the very apex of her folds. Elizabeth could do nothing but hold on, silently sobbing with delight as he lavished pleasure on her, her eager body only begging for more.

She needed him.

* * *

She tugged insistently on his hair, as she reached the crest of the wave she had first journeyed the night before, and he sensed her need. Immediately his hands and mouth left her, and she whimpered with loss, but then he was there, his mouth ravaging hers, his hands tearing at the placket of his breeches. Elizabeth scrambled to assist, but her hands shook too much. His lips and tongue tasted of her, as he met her passion with his own, and she ceased her fruitless attempts to help him with his clothes, and instead twined her hand back with his hair, its mate holding onto his shoulder for dear life. Without breaking the kiss, he bent his knees and lifted her onto him, sliding easily into her slick entrance. Elizabeth gasped into the kiss; her cry muffled as she abruptly crested the wave and fell over, her body stretched out too long in anticipation from that morning and his ministrations only seconds before. She clung to him, as he panted into her mouth, holding her against the door as if turned to stone.

She’d had no idea it could be done this way, but on reflection it was not dissimilar to the position they had taken last night, just…standing up. She appreciated her husband’s strength anew, as he effortlessly took her weight and rocked her against him. Barely recovered from her first release, Elizabeth trembled and fought to breathe…

Just then, they heard voices in the corridor outside. The couple froze, in agonising dread, as the voices, that of the cook and the maid, discussed this and that, arguing over some minor point. With relief, they heard their voices fade in the direction of the kitchens, and Darcy drew back from the kiss.

He gazed up at her, as she cocked her head at him, studying the strangeness of their position and the way it made her feel. All but fully clothed, totally reliant on his strength to hold her up, Elizabeth had never felt so vulnerable in her life. It was a heady, giddy experience, one that should have unnerved her, but not with Darcy. She trusted him, she was safe with him.

“Please…move,” Elizabeth gasped, before leaning down to recapture his lips. He groaned, bracing her against the door, and thrust firmly into her. He moaned into their kiss, every muscle tense and flickering with effort, as he repeated the manoeuvre.

Elizabeth could feel a second release swelling within her, compounded by the feeling of vulnerability and danger of being caught, intoxicated by the feel of her husband’s strength surrounding and supporting her so completely, she was as entrapped by him as she had been that morning they had fought.

Gasping for air, Darcy broke from her lips to smother the rise of her breasts with kisses, pushed as they were by her bodice. The hard panelling of the wooden door was jolted into her back with each powerful thrust but she didn’t care, overwhelmed by the eroticism of the moment.

She could feel him drawing near the end, release beckoning him like a glimpse of heaven, and she silently begged him to take it. But he would not go without her, as he reached down with his hand, even as he raised his head back to hers and kissed her passionately, and pressed between her damp curls. She shattered with a scream, not entirely suppressed by the forceful kiss he pressed upon her, and he followed with a groan.

In the aftermath, Darcy held her with now shaking arms, his chest heaving, gasping for air greedily. Her hands tenderly held him, stroking his hair as he raised his head and looked her over to make sure she was well. She looked content, if utterly debauched. Some primal, supremely male part of him could feel nothing but smug satisfaction at that.

He knew better than to voice it, however.

* * *

Calling on the last of his strength, he took Elizabeth’s weight and lifted her away from the door. Swinging around, he made for the sofa and gently laid her down upon it. Sated and replete, Elizabeth could only watch, feeling disgruntled when he slid from her at the movement, as he took care to clean himself before fastening his breeches, then folded his handkerchief over to tenderly wipe between her legs, removing all evidence of their interlude. She shivered, sensitive, at his touch and the rasp of linen between her legs, and he smiled understandingly.

Just then, they heard the sonorous tones of Parson Collins and the patient, long-suffering ones of Mrs Collins, as they strolled up the garden path. In a flash of speed that Elizabeth envied in her languid state, Darcy threw the soiled handkerchief in the fire, readjusting his clothes and hair quickly. Elizabeth could only follow suit, as she sat up slowly and rearranged herself demurely on the sofa, making sure her hair was presentable and her clothes neat. She winced slightly at the twinges in her back and thighs as she moved, but it was nothing a bath could not fix. It also reminded her deliciously of what had just occurred.

As the door opened to admit her cousin and dearest friend, and Darcy stood to greet them, Elizabeth reflected she would never be able to quite look at this room in the same way again.

* * *

_**Finis** _


End file.
